


How to Fall the Right Way

by angeladex



Series: Dysfunctional Teen Mutant Club [8]
Category: X-Men Evolution
Genre: Bullying, Canon-Compliant, Duncan Matthews is an asshole, Dysfunctional Teen Mutant Club, Expansion of the episode "Power Surge" in Season 2, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jack Winters' A+ Parenting, Let Scott swear, Scott had a shitty childhood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 05:41:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28898322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angeladex/pseuds/angeladex
Summary: He knew how to fall. You can’t train with Logan every day, several times a day, for going on three years without knowing how to fall without hurting yourself.But it was something else doing it gracefully.And it was something else again to be pushed.Takes place during the Season 2 episode "Power Surge." little expansion on that blurb of a scene when Duncan pushes Scott during the Track and Field tryouts. Rated T for swearing.
Relationships: Jean Grey/Duncan Matthews, Jean Grey/Scott Summers
Series: Dysfunctional Teen Mutant Club [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1935622
Kudos: 7





	How to Fall the Right Way

He knew how to fall. You can’t train with Logan every day, several times a day, for going on three years without knowing how to fall without hurting yourself.

But it was something else doing it gracefully.

And it was something else again to be pushed.

The fall was broken into parts, for Scott Summers. When he knew he’d not be able to correct, his first action was to squeeze his eyes shut.

That wasn’t supposed to be the first thing you worried about. But it was, for Scott.

Keeping his eyes shut had been a litany literally beaten into him for many years.

And then he set about tucking his limbs in; it wouldn’t do to break a wrist or fracture an elbow.

He felt his glasses fly off his face.

But it was all right, because his eyes were already shut.

His ankles weren’t turned, which was good. He’d not walk away from this limping.

There was no shame walking away from a fight he hadn’t even started, but limping away from one sure felt shameful.

He rolled harmlessly in the grass, and took a deep breath.

Assess. Assess.

No pain in his ribs. Nothing broken, nothing sprained.

Maybe a bruise to his hip, but that hardly even counted as an injury.

He sat up, and his hands patted the blades of grass closest to him.

If he’d landed on his glasses, that would suck.

He let his thoughts go to Duncan. Freaking Duncan Matthews. That asshole had pushed him on purpose.

The area around him within arm’s reach yielded no glasses. Hmm. That proved problematic. He widened his search.

Things with Duncan had been dicey since Scott had met him, sophomore year. The guy was an entitled jerk; an opinion Jean used to share, until the…ahm…incident. Where Scott might have accidentally destroyed a wing of the gym.

Things went down that Scott hadn’t been conscious for, and suddenly Jean thought Duncan was deeper than they’d thought, and she was set to give him a second chance. She’d since gotten really close with him, which annoyed Scott to no end.

Shit. Shit. Where were they? He’d been searching too long. People were going to notice, soon. And drawing attention to the lengths he would go to keep his sunglasses on wasn’t exactly the way to stay on the down low.

He heard soft footsteps on the grass behind him.

Shit.

A strong arm wrapped around him.

 _Shit_.

He started violently when the arm squeezed gently, but firmly; guiding Scott into a standing position; it was a big man. Scott topped six foot two, and he was big, but he was being held and guided by an arm with way more muscle than Scott had, pulled slightly into a chest way broader than Scott’s own. Though Scott was pretty sure he had this guy by almost a solid foot.

“Keep your eyes closed.”

The voice came from a place level with Scott’s shoulder, which he’d already figured out. The words took a second to register, and when they did, Scott was shocked and uncertain, but he wasn’t about to disobey.

And then he felt…his glasses being placed gently on his face; he felt the familiar weight rest on his nose, and a familiar grip at a spot just behind his ears.

He habitually adjusted them. And they were right. It wasn’t some other pair of glasses. He knew these were his. (And how could he not? He’d only worn them every single day for nearly three years.)

He opened his eyes slowly, anyway, and then blinked in surprise when it didn’t prove catastrophic.

“C-Coach?” he asked uncertainly, because…it was Coach McCoy.

The man smiled at him kindly, and clapped him on the back.

“Take five, huh?”

And Scott just…blinked.

“Okay! Who’s running the 200?” he called jovially.

Like nothing weird had happened.

Like he hadn’t just…saved Scott from something potentially disastrous.

He felt a small smile of wonder and joy take his face, and he let it.

It was…nice. 


End file.
